Photo: pexels.com
To put away the day for just a moment,
and turn down the volume of my mind,
let alone every device of distraction,
to accept the seasons,
the songs of life,
and, the love of others,
to simply sit
with folded hands
in silence.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, meditation, mindfulness, nature, poetry, Quadrille
Image: http://www.pexels.com
One summer’s dusk
we lay down in Demeter’s realm,
whispering wheat in gentle breeze,
fecund, abundant and lush,
a promise of tomorrow.
And there momentarily we lived abandon,
that little death let go,
when, suddenly,
so unexpected,
a kaleidoscope of butterflies
filled the air.
©Paul vincent Cannon
Note: a kaleidoscope is a group of butterflies, and Demeter was the Greek goddess of grain and harvest.
Paul,
pvcann.com
Photo: flashback.com
We were raised dirt poor though we never understood,
there were holes in our shoes, in everything,
well, that’s the way we were.
And though we desired gold and fine things,
we took our refuge in grand imagined worlds.
©Paul vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under creativity, Five Lines, life, poetry
Parsimonious – Word of the Day
Photo: http://www.pexels.com/photo/adult-beautiful-blur-bride-219776/
The chair,
the wobbly chair,
well, I fixed that chair
with a cardboard wedge
as good as new.
Your dress,
that holy dress,
more sacred since you patched it
with stitches like ancient runes,
an artifact of history.
We’re saving for posterity,
we’re saving for calamity,
we’re saving for a bust.
Though we’ve never known one yet,
“You never know”
my father used to say,
“There’ll be one soon you mark my words.”
But even though we eat so lean,
pare the cheese,
and nothing’s thrown,
there’s that one luxury we set no bounds,
an exorbitant expense,
when we take time to fool around
and spend our love for all its worth.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Larapinta Drive, Northen Territory.
Estranged by Greeks and Romans
no place amongst the gods,
your face is pocked and riven
where we’ve plucked and scratched and gouged.
You’re tired, even slowing;
but here, coupled,
entwined beneath your sun,
I hear you gently whisper,
“To me you will return.”
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Photo: http://www.dailymail.co.uk
Four Mexican fishermen who were adrift for one month, rescued by Mexican navy 1,200 miles from their planned route.
Eagerly we motored out and pushed beyond the heads,
to way past any sight of land,
to where the fish are known.
At some point,
too early,
the light became constrained.
As darkness pressed our souls,
confused,
we turned for home.
And if that wasn’t enough,
someone said in panicked tone
“We’re taking water now.”
And so began committee time,
clause by clause a values game,
what should we throw out?
So went the rods and then the bait,
a tackle box or two.
desperately we ate our lunch
and skulled the beer down,
whatever helped us float.
Eventually we plugged the hole and bailed dry,
but now which way to go?
“Dunno mate” larconically said,
“We’ve thrown the compass out.”
We took turns to steer the night
so sleep could claim a few.
But when at last the sun appeared
despair set in,
home was nowhere near.
To make it worse the fuel ran out,
but at least the shore was close.
We paddled hard with all our might,
the current pushing hard,
though hard we tried the boat gave up,
and land was passing by.
Tired now,
our hearts and boat are one.
But to understand what’s happened here
you’ll have to catch my drift.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
I’m not sure I could trace the origins of it,
but it must have begun
for us to have arrived at this moment.
That I would even leave the hermitage of my life
to embrace another
has been a source or mystery to me and other.
To penetrate the dark glass of time
we call memory,
to return to where we began.
That greatest adventure we called love
has become something far deeper,
something mystical,
an essence so strong that should it cease,
the universe would collapse.
And yet it is effortless,
natural,
like breathing.
And knowing that there is no precise knowing at
which point breath becomes inward or outward,
it just is,
as we just are.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Image: wallpaperstock.net
Heels staccato
ringing the flagstones loud,
voices blending into each other,
that creative human recipe.
The scrape of a chair,
glasses sparkling,
were faces red from wine or sun?
The hiss of coffee being poured,
barista focussed,
hidden by spurts of steam.
And there you were,
framed by the door,
an acolyte of spring,
such energy, such brio.
I found my breath,
my pulse racing.
We played with food
and swirled our wine,
you gushed about the brioche,
the morning,
aunt Sophie,
the lake.
But I desired your lips
and your sweet wine.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, love, poetry, romance, Uncategorized
Monochromatic – Your Daily Word
Image: Monochromatic Wallpaper – cdn.wallpapersafari.com
The screen was black and white though
eventually it faded to grey,
a sea of obsequious sorrow,
that vision of the ministry of love.
And, in my child’s mind,
I wanted to break out.
I deviated,
rebelled,
seeking to escape the doldrums
of melancholic existence and
predictable furrows.
Such frowns would imprison me,
but for the adventure of divergent colour,
thrumming wildly in my heart.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, mindfulness, poetry, politics, psychology
A spinnifex pigeon, Ormiston Gorge in the Tjoritja/West MacDonnell National Park, Northern Territory. There’s a small cafe there adjacent to the caravan park. this little fellow thinks that Geoff is holding his hand out with a treat and he made a brave run for it, even though he was wary at first, he plucked up the courage to try. He was disappointed, and we would never feed them – too much sugar in our foods especialy cake and biscuits which is deadly for most animals. Sadly, by this bird’s behaviour, I’d say tourists were regularly feeding the birds. Photo’s blurry, pigeon’s on the move.
My knuckles are white,
I look into the abyss,
earth is falling away,
and dawn reveals the distance of my terror.
You seem oblivious, all excited.
How did it come to this?
That moment you said “It’ll be fun” and
I agreed with such vigour,
secretly hating my mouth,
wanting to play the gunslinger,
I mounted the stallion of lies
and it bolted,
rushing me towards my doom,
“It’ll be fun” I lied.
And so we tramped the paddock
as darkness began its daily surrender.
The cold cut me sharply
my gut like a vice.
Suddenly, burners lit the space,
and, slowly, the fabric lifted.
My knuckles are white,
I look into the abyss,
earth is falling away.
©Paul Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
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